Happy Fish Day!

On Valentine's Day, we eat fish. Don't ask me why. I don't have all the answers. We just do. Maybe it's because I don't cook fish at home, so fish becomes the only food that's special. And let's face it, devoting one day a year to doing something special with your wife/husband/lover/mistress isn't too much to ask. Even if it's just fish.

So tomorrow we'll head up to Seattle, roam the drizzly streets, browse, shop and have a late supper at McCormick's. Tres Romantical, eh?


Well it doesn't take a lot to make us happy. I tried to remember a horrible Valentines Day but I just don't have one.

What I have is a story.

Caroline and I have known each other for 24 years, we've been married for eleven. Now, I'm only 39, so that tells you something. There were thirteen years of something else.

We started out as friends and joked that we'd end up together because no one else would be able to put up with our humor. Relationships came and went, I moved to Alabama, but eventually returned. When I did it was like I'd never left. The laughter was just where I left it. We moved in together before we'd even voiced that we were embarking on an actual commitment, before we'd even kissed. But it wasn't long before things changed. She knew before I did, of course--women have a vision for these things. It didn't have to change much, there was always love and emotional intimacy, we just added the physical part, which is the easiest bit.

Then we got married, and I'll agree with all the brides out there: it was a special day.

But is Valentine's Day "Special" to me? No. I don't think it's special to Caroline. It's the relationship I cherish and the woman. I do that every day.

But the fish is good.


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